No one
by WhiskeynRye
Summary: Scott didn't realise, Stiles is still nothing. He wasn't popular, or good at lacrosse or important. That was Scott. And well, if Stiles was no one there's no reason to stick around.


Title: No one

Pairing: Stiles

Genre: Tragedy

Rating: T

Summary: Scott didn't realise, Stiles is still nothing. He wasn't popular, or good at lacrosse or important. That was Scott. And well, if Stiles was no one there's no reason to stick around.

Warnings: Death fic. Suicide. Possible trigger.

It was only after Stiles had gotten home, and was lying in bed trying and failing to sleep did he think about Scott's words.

_We were nothing. We weren't popular. We weren't good at lacrosse. We weren't important. We were no one. Maybe I should just be no one again. No one at all. _

But Scott didn't realise, Stiles was still human and he was all those things. He still wasn't popular, or good at lacrosse or important. No, that was Scott. And well, if Stiles was no one there's no reason to stick around.

Yes, Stiles understood that Scott didn't really think that; it was the Darach influencing him. But it made sense. What's the point of living, if you're no one? If you're nothing? _You've someone. You're a researcher for the pack, _Stiles thought. But a little voice inside him said, _they've got Lydia for that. She's smarter, more resourceful_ and _she's some psychic thing that always knows where the dead bodies are. How can you top that? _And Stiles couldn't. He couldn't think of a single thing to keep here.

There was his dad, of course, but why would he want a failure, hyperactive bastard of a son? Stiles knew he looked his mother; could see the sadness in his fathers' eyes when he looks at him. Scott had Allison or he would because _everyone _knew them getting back together was inevitable and he had the pack. He and Isaac had been spending more time together lately as well.

Stiles had no other friends besides Scott, and he used the term "friend" loosely because Scott had been a shitty friend lately. But Stiles still considered him his brother. Because that was Stiles.

Lydia, the girl he'd loved since he was 8, even she didn't give a shit about him. She had Jackson, who was rich, popular, and handsome. _Everything he wasn't. _Then after he had left, after she had admitted in front of everybody that she loved him, she had moved on to Aiden. Another werewolf, an evil one to make matters worse. Who, just like Jackson was handsome and popular and rode a motorcycle. Why would Lydia be with him? Aiden can protect her with his werewolf powers, what could Stiles do? Nothing.

_We weren't popular…_

Stiles thought about school. Walking with Scott where people would stop Scott to talk or just congratulate him on the latest lacrosse game, while Stiles just stood there, invisible. Even Danny, nicest guy there was and liked everybody, didn't like him. Danny just ignored Stiles whenever he tried to talk to him.

_We weren't good at lacrosse…_

The one and only time Stiles has scored, he was so happy. Filled with pride and joy because _he – Stiles Stilinski – _had scored. And then he had been kidnapped and beat up. Even after, the next day at school, no one seemed to remember or care that he had scored.

With shaky hands, Stiles brought one to his face which had become increasingly wet. He was crying. And he was breathing fast, his heart pounding. A panic attack. Reaching over to his bag, he reached inside blindly for his inhaler. Trying to remember techniques the doctor had told him and drawing a blank. Finally. He found it. Closing his fingers around it he could finally breathe again after a few inhales. But he still cried. _There's a gun in dad's room. You know he keeps one by his bed. _Stiles felt himself lift up from his position on his bed and enter his dads' room. And there it was. His dads' gun. With almost numb fingers he picked it up and walked back to his room. Luckily his dad was on the graveyard shift tonight.

Clicking the safety off silently, the teenager placed the muzzle of the gun against his temple and squeezed his eyes shut. _Three… _the tears continued to fall… _two… _a broken sob escaped his lips but he held strong… _One. _

_No. _

He had to leave something, a note, so they knew it wasn't their fault. Wasn't their fault he was a failure, that he wasn't clever enough or strong enough or just _not good enough. _At his desk was a spiral notepad and a pen, which he opened and began to write.

_To whoever finds this, _

_Tell my dad I'm sorry I wasn't a good son. And I wish I could be better. But I can't. I tried, I tried so hard but I just couldn't. I'm sorry moms dead because of me, and I'm sorry you lost your job because of me. Please don't start drinking again. I love you. And don't worry, I'll be with mom, I'll tell her that you took good care of me like you promised her before she died. _

_Scott, my brother, I'll miss you. I know you'll think this was your fault; try to blame yourself in some way. Don't. It's my fault I'm no one, and it's my fault I didn't try harder to be better. Tell the pack I'll miss them, even Derek. _

_Lydia, I love you. I hope you find happiness, with someone who deserves you and can take care of you and be everything you need. Don't settle for anything less. You're official researcher for the pack now, I'm sure you'll so a better job than I ever did. _

_I'm sorry. _

_Love, Stiles._

Some words were smudges with tears, but it was still mostly readable. He places it beside him, easily seen so he knows it'll be found when he's gone.

Re-positioning the gun, he closed his eyes again. But this time, they weren't squeezed shut, instead they softly closed and he even had a small smile on his face. There was no hesitation as he squeezed the trigger. The resounding bang echoing through the quiet house. Stiles fell back against the wall, arm holding the gun dropping till it fell in his lap. That small smile still on his face.

And that's how, hours later, Derek Hale found him.


End file.
